


Time To Let Him Go

by RiddleBlack



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Married Merlahad, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 15:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17645444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiddleBlack/pseuds/RiddleBlack
Summary: “I’m sorry.”“What do you have to be sorry for?” Merlin asked, his voice soft and comforting, “You’ve done nothing wrong. We’re—I’m the one that’s sorry.” The correction was not in reference to the drowning attempt.





	Time To Let Him Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arlessiar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlessiar/gifts).



> For Arlessiar and Kingsman Secret Santa~!
> 
> Prompt: "Merlin comforts Amnesiac!Harry after the second water test, his heart breaking as he helps him change clothes, pats him dry, lets him cry, puts him to bed. Harry doesn't recognize his partner but enjoys the affection. Consensual, chaste and professional yet intimate and distressing for Merlin."

_This wasn’t supposed to happen._

The thought reverberated through Merlin’s skull like an echo in a cave, bouncing off of the cold, vacant walls and calling back to him. A never-ending reminder of what he had just allowed to occur. He had stood by and watched as Ginger had filled Harry’s room with water, watched as the man had jumped and cried for help, watched as the love of his life screamed and choked and tried to grasp for a support that wasn’t there, all because he had let himself run away with a fantasy – the idea that Harry’s eye would grow wide with recognition. That he would easily kick the window in and free himself. He would take a moment to catch his breath before standing up and adjusting his attire. He would turn to Merlin and give him that small smile he always did when he walked into a room before stepping closer and taking his hands in his. Brushing his thumb along the ring they had picked out together nearly fifteen years ago, Harry would reach up to cup his chin and—

“What do you want?”

Merlin blinked, ripping himself from his imagination once more. Harry was seated on the make-shift bed of his room, hunched over and sopping wet. He couldn’t remember ever seeing him like this. Stooped, compacting in on himself, like he was afraid to take up space. His Harry was never afraid to make himself known, even on missions when his intent was to blend in. This Harry looked like he wanted to disappear into the soaked cushions.

Taking a hesitant step into the room, Merlin tried not to show his heartbreak on his face when he noted Harry shift back ever so slightly. He raised his hands in a placating gesture before moving to sit beside him.

“Are you alright?” He asked, tone soft. He felt like he was talking to a wounded animal and, as his gaze fell upon the matte black eyepatch that covered his lover’s left eye, he realized that he was.

“Not exactly. I nearly drowned just now.” Harry muttered, hands folded in his lap. The appendages twitched every once in a while as he spoke and Merlin did his best not to stare. He remembered what Ginger had said about them. That, regardless of if his memory returned, there was no guarantee that he could be an agent. There were other problems – depth perception issues, muscle spasms, various blips that, when combined, piled into the fact that Harry, his Harry, might never be able to return to the field.

“I… I know. And I’m sorry. It’s just… you’ve forgotten who you are, Harry,” Merlin murmured, “When you were young, you had a choice between being a lepidopterist and joining the army. You chose the army. The army led you to Kingsman. You became a Kingsman agent.” He knew he was rambling, but he was desperate to find something, anything, that would click in Harry’s mind and remind him of who he had been.

Harry stared at him pitifully. “I doubt I would ever work for anyone who drowns their employees.” If it had been any other day, time, place, _life_ , Merlin would have laughed at the sarcasm that apparently permeated every version of his husband. “I want to go home. I want my butterfly collection. I want to see mother.”

Merlin swallowed and let his eyes fall to the floor. His dark Oxfords stood out against the white cushioned flooring, while the sneakers Harry had been provided with blended in. He couldn’t bring himself to look up as Ginger clicked the intercom and he heard her sympathetic voice cut through the silence.

“There’s nothing more we can do. It’s time to let him go.”

 Unable to even force a nod, Merlin stood and held out his hand for Harry to take. He doubted the man would do so, seeing as he was still a stranger at this point, but at least he could think back on the moment and know he tried. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Harry stared at the upturned palm, expression impossible to read. Just as Merlin prepared to withdraw his hand, Harry’s own slipped in and he rose to his feet. Merlin swallowed and turned to the door to guide them down the hall towards of the Statesman’s pseudo-locker rooms, forcing himself to focus more on the task of getting Harry dry than the meager comfort of the familiar touch of his hand in his own.

The Statemen locker rooms were nearly identical to the rest of their tech and medical spaces. Pristine, white, minimalist. For a moment, Merlin considered how much of a pain it was for cleaners to keep the space looking so elegant when agents would be running about. He sat Harry down on a bench between the lockers and the showers and retrieved a towel from one of the many supply closets. He knew the man would likely prefer to dry himself, but the knowledge that this could very well be the last time he would see his husband clawed at his chest. Crouching between Harry’s legs, Merlin began to rub the towel against his hair, the act met with no protest. The pair remained in silence as Harry removed individual pieces attire in line with Merlin moving the towel down his body. After his sweatshirt was cast aside, he started down the man’s arms, only to pause at his left hand. A band of pale white skin showed brighter than his wedding ring ever. Where had it gone? Had Harry gotten rid of it during his stay with Stateman? Had Ginger taken it out of fear that Harry would panic as he had in the past? He refused to allow himself to dwell on it. Casting his eyes to the floor, he gestured to Harry’s legs.

“You can remove your trousers and dry yourself off, if you’d prefer.” He murmured, the first to break the silence. When he didn’t receive a response, he looked up to see if Harry had heard him, only to freeze.

 Tears pooled around Harry’s only eye, spilling over the moment they locked gazes. The man swallowed and turned away, shoulders hunched with shame and embarrassment. Instantly, Merlin was sitting on the bench and his arm was wrapping around Harry’s shoulder, pulling him close. It was a reflex, he was sure, even if he could count the number of times Harry had allowed himself to cry in front of him on one hand. If the circumstances weren’t what they were, perhaps he would have welcomed this openly emotional Harry.

“I’m sorry.”

Merlin paused, hating that his thoughts had run away with him once more. He glanced down at Harry, his husband’s face tucked against his chest. Hastily, he brought his hands up, instinctively wiping at both eyes and flinching when his hand bumped against his eye patch.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Merlin asked, his voice soft and comforting, “You’ve done nothing wrong. We’re—I’m the one that’s sorry.” The correction was not in reference to the drowning attempt.

“I was frightened,” Harry whispered, taking a deep breath before he sat up to look at Merlin, “I was frightened, and I know I wasn’t supposed to be. You all… you all expected me to be able to handle what happened and I couldn’t. I’m failing you, I’m failing Ginger, I’m failing that young man that came in with you… and I don’t even know what it is that I’m unable to give you. I can’t remember. I can’t remember and I’m sorry.”

Merlin’s heart constricted with every negative expression. He was frightened, he couldn’t do it, he’d failed, he’d forgotten, he was sorry. This wasn’t his Harry. His Harry was never sorry. Not for arguments, not for mission mistakes, not for changes in plan. It was infuriating during their marriage and Merlin had called him on it dozens of times. But it also meant that Harry had never been sorry for who he was. His Harry was never apologetic because he wasn’t what was needed or didn’t fit a necessary mold. His Harry was Harry and there was no fucking way he would change that.

“You haven’t failed us. None of this is your fault, understand?” Merlin kept his hands cupped around Harry’s head, forcing him to keep eye contact, “You didn’t ask for any of this to happen to you. As he spoke, he allowed himself to be drawn into Harry’s gaze, warm brown eyes calling him back to the past, their marriage, their wedding, and, unintentionally, their vows. “You are the strongest man I have ever known. You know no fear, even when carrying all the world’s pain. You do all that you can to can to ensure that things are better for others, often at your own expense, and without ever being asked to do so… Harry, you could never have failed me. I lo—”

He froze. No. No, this wasn’t right. He couldn’t put that upon him, not when he was about to depart. He was going to leave and live his own life, away from Kingsman, from spies and gadgets and explosions and his husband. Merlin couldn’t impose his love upon a man that couldn’t remember that he used to feel the same. Instead, he stopped himself and released Harry’s cheeks before getting to his feet.

“Come on. Let’s get you back upstairs. Your room should be dry by now.”

Harry blinked, removing himself from the pseudo-trance Merlin’s words had put them in. Merlin doubted that he understood them, but he hoped they had provided some comfort. He turned around to give Harry a moment to redress, his sweatshirt zipping up echoing through the enormous locker room. Guiding him back down the hall, he held his door open for him and waited for him to enter. Harry stepped through, turning to allow Merlin to do the same.

“I… I can’t,” Merlin said, turning to look around the room (to assure that it had been cleaned, certainly not to avoid looking at Harry), “You rest before you pack. It’s been a difficult day for you.”

“Yes, I suppose it has.” Harry agreed, though he made no moves to get into bed, “Good day.”

“Good day, Harry.” Merlin turned and shut the door behind him without so much as a glance. He knew if he caught Harry’s eye, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from departing with a kiss.

Ginger was waiting for him when he returned to her laboratory. He didn’t need to look at her to know her eyes were filled with sympathy, but he found himself waving her off anyway.

“I’m fine,” He asserted, “It’s… it’s what needs to be done.”

Ginger nodded. “I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.” She turned and walked over to her desk, and Merlin wondered for a moment if she was going to do something else to Harry’s room. Instead, she opened up a drawer and retrieved something. Sliding it shut, she returned to his side and took his hand, placing it in his palm.

“I took it from him in order to run some tests,” She explained, “I was afraid to give it back and risk being unable to answer any questions he had. I figured you would want it.”

Merlin opened fingers and instantly felt his throat close. Shiny metal reflected the cold laboratory light and for a moment, it reminded him of golden circle they were presently investigating. But as he turned the band to reveal the inscription, the mission connotation disappeared. His own name greeted him, carved delicately into gold. It matched his, Harry’s name forever pressed against his ring finger. Without a word, he slid the band on, regardless of how tight it was. It sat on top of his own, barely touching but perfectly matching.

“I’ll give you two a moment.” Ginger reached out to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder before departing. He didn’t bother to point out that this wasn’t exactly what he would call a final moment with his partner, the two of them separated by a wall of glass. Instead, he nodded in thanks and waited for the door to click shut behind her. As he turned to look back through the two-way mirror and watch Harry prepare for bed, his right hand drifted to his left and his thumb ran over the matching rings, not sure of if he would ever get used to the feeling two bands.

Thankfully, the ring doesn’t stay there for very long.


End file.
